Father's Day
by jo-zabby
Summary: Each of those reasons individually were more than enough cause for Dean's early morning drinking, but none of those things mattered today. Today was Father's Day. (As always, I own nothing!)


_For my father _

Father's Day

_19 June 2011, 7:29 am_

Dean took another swig out of his half full cup of whiskey, finding a small amount of comfort as the whiskey cut its way down his throat, leaving a path of fire in its wake. Life was rough; Sam had been keeping to himself and having weird fits since that damn wall came down in his head, Cas was claiming he was God, Dean hadn't been able to sleep for more than three hours each night for the past four months, and Bobby was gone helping an old friend take down a werewolf a couple counties over… Each of those reasons individually were more than enough cause for Dean's early morning drinking, but none of those things mattered today.

Today was Father's Day.

John always seemed to make sure to have a case on Father's Day weekend and, as a result, Father's day when Sam and Dean were kids was usually spent alone in a skanky motel room, aside from a rare few when they were dropped off at Bobby's. When John returned, reeking of booze and bleeding from a thousand different places, Sam would give him small presents that he and Dean would make or find on the street while Dean cleaned and stitched his father's wounds. John would thank his sons politely then put them to bed extra early so he could drink copious amounts of alcohol in solitude. Dean would always secretly stay awake, creeping out of bed to cover his father up with a blanket when he finally passed out.

As the years went by, Dean simply bought his father a bottle of scotch which they'd share in some dingy motel room after a hunt and Sam wouldn't send anything at all. Dean was sure he'd spent a couple of cheerful Father's Days with his dad back when his mom was alive, but he sure as hell couldn't remember them, and he would be willing to bet that John couldn't remember them either. In fact, Dean could count on one hand how many times he and his father had actually had fun together, holidays included

After their father died, Sam and Dean basically ignored the biological ties involved with Father's Day, deciding instead to spend Father's Day with Bobby, showering him with bottles of alcohol, drinking themselves stupid and watching reruns of cheesy soap operas.

Father's Day had always been one of Dean's least favorite holidays, at least until Father's Day 2010.

_20 June 2010 7:29 am_

Dean was jolted awake by Ben cheerfully bellowing "Happy Father's Day!" at the top of his lungs.

Dean could honestly say that he hadn't seen that one coming.

It was definitely a pleasant surprise; Dean had been staying with the Braedens for nearly nine months and had grown quite close to both Ben and Lisa. Sure, Dean treated Ben like he was his son and, for all practical purposes considered him to _be_ his son, but it had never occurred to Dean that Ben regarded him as his father. The realization brought a smile to Dean's face, which was quickly wiped away when Ben threw himself on top of him, successfully knocking all of the air out of Dean's lungs.

"Good morning to you too, Ben," Dean wheezed, laughing lightly and giving the boy an awkward hug.

Lisa laughed as she leaned against the doorway. Dean glanced in her direction; funny, he hadn't even heard her get up. "Come on," Ben said, crawling off of Dean and pulling him away from the bed. "We made you breakfast!"

Dean obliged, stumbling out of bed and following the rambunctious boy towards the kitchen. Laid out on the table was a huge breakfast, full of eggs, pancakes and bacon. "Wow," Dean said simply. Ben grinned before running off to his bedroom.

Lisa walked towards him, wrapping her arms around his neck and balancing on her tiptoes to give Dean a quick kiss. "Happy Father's Day, baby," she whispered. Dean smiled and kissed her again, and again, and again...

The two were interrupted when Ben reentered the kitchen, clearing his throat loudly to separate his mother and Dean. The three sat down and devoured the delicious food Lisa and Ben had concocted. "This is easily the best breakfast I've ever had," Dean commented, his mouth completely stuffed with food, "and I've had a lot of breakfasts."

After they'd eaten, Lisa cleared the plates (refusing Dean's offer to help) and Ben placed the box he'd retrieved from his bedroom in front of Dean. "For me?" Dean asked, his voice tinted with surprise.

"Who else?"

"Good point," Dean agreed. He tore away the wrapping paper and opened the box. Inside, on top of a mass of tissue paper, was a small envelope, which Dean opened to reveal a card obviously made by Ben. Ben leaned beside Dean, pointing to two cartoon figures standing beside a car as he said "That's you and me and your car. We're working on it, see?" Dean smiled.

"Did you draw this?"

"Mmmhmm."

"Impressive; I didn't know you could draw." Ben beamed as Dean opened the card. '_Happy Father's Day, Dean! I know you aren't really my dad, but you're still the best sorta-dad ever! And you're even cooler than ACDC – Ben'_. Just below Ben's sloppy handwriting was a note etched in Lisa's neat script: _Dean- You're the best father in the world and I'm so happy to have you in our lives. We love you, Lisa. _Dean turned to Ben, his throat tight with emotion as he asked, "Even cooler than ACDC huh?"

"Way cooler."

Dean laughed and Ben's grin grew even wider as Dean began digging through the tissue paper. Feeling the bottom of the box with his hand, Dean retrieved a simple black coffee mug. Turning the cup in his hands, Dean noticed a large picture of him and Ben plastered on the side. Dean remembered the day the picture was taken; it was one of Ben's more successful soccer games. Ben had singlehandedly scored five goals and sent his team on to finals, so Dean had scooped Ben up and sat him on his shoulder. The picture was of Ben perched on Dean's shoulder, his arms raised triumphantly. Both of them were beaming. Dean remembered Lisa snapping the photo, but he'd never actually seen the picture.

Looking over at Ben, Dean's eyes threatened to overflow with tears once again. Wordlessly, Dean pulled Ben towards him, giving him the biggest and tightest hug he could manage. Dean could feel Lisa watching them from the kitchen, so he turned towards her and stood up from his chair, pulling the protesting Ben up with him. He hoisted the ten year old up on his hip and held out his free arm to Lisa. Lisa ran towards him, wrapping her arms around him and Ben.

At that moment, everything negative that had ever happened to Dean Winchester was forgotten and Dean was certain he'd never loved anyone more than he loved Lisa and Ben right in that moment.

The three stood like that until Ben started squirming and demanded to be returned to the ground. The rest of the day was spent doing stereotypical Father's Day activities at the park, followed by dinner at Dean's favorite diner. Then Lisa and Ben both fell asleep on Dean's arm while they were halfway through _Blues Brothers_.

Even to this day, Dean could still clearly remember how wonderful it had felt to have his arms wrapped around Lisa and Ben, holding them close and protecting them from a million nonexistent threats. How the leather couch squeaked whenever he moved his legs or how the top of Lisa's head had smelled faintly like lemonade or how Ben wrinkled his nose in his sleep in the exact same way Lisa did.

He stayed like that for at least an hour before he slid his arm carefully away from the two sleeping figures around him, trying his hardest not to disturb them. Dean stood quietly and scooped the sleeping Ben up in his arms. He carried the boy upstairs and deposited him on his bed, somehow managing not to wake him. Pulling the covers up around his surrogate-son's shoulders, Dean leaned down to whisper "I love you, bud," before placing a kiss gently on the child's forehead.

Dean then returned downstairs and walked to Lisa, who was still fast asleep on the couch. He scooped her up easily and smiled as she subconsciously wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. He marched upstairs with her and collapsed on their bed, never once letting go of Lisa. He didn't care that they were both still dressed in the jeans and button-downs they'd been wearing all day; he only cared that the woman he loved was safe in his arms.

_19 June 2011, 8:12 am_

Dean didn't even realize he was crying (or nearly out of whiskey) until Bobby's front door opened with a loud creak and shut with a bang. Dean couldn't bring himself to stand to see who was coming in or to even reach for the knife lying on the other side of the table. He didn't even move to wipe the tears off of his face. Dean just didn't care anymore – at least not today. _Let them come,_ he thought, _just let them kill me. _

Luckily it was only Bobby. Marching tiredly into the study, Bobby took one look at Dean and felt his heart sink. He'd hoped, against all odds, that he'd come back to find the Winchester boys laughing and watching TV like normal, but, of course, nothing was ever that simple. Sighing heavily, Bobby sat down across from Dean. The hunt hadn't been too bad, just a few bumps and bruises, but he was tired, more emotionally than physically.

"How're you doin', kid?" Bobby asked, exhaustion ringing in his tone as he reached for the shallow bottle of whiskey sitting near Dean.

He took a swig and watched as Dean shrugged, his head bobbing loosely on his shoulders. "Sammy's asleep, I think," Dean murmured.

"I was askin' 'bout you, not Sam."

Dean shook his head before downing the contents of a plain black coffee mug sitting before him. Bobby frowned, not recognizing the cup. "What're you drinkin' outta boy?"

Dean jaw clenched as he clutched the cup tightly with both hands, his knuckles turning white as he dragged the cup closer to him. Bobby frowned; he'd never seen Dean drunk like this, especially not so early in the morning. Dean Winchester was a man who could hold his liquor, but apparently that rule didn't apply today. Bobby couldn't say that he blamed the kid; he'd been going through a lot lately – they all had, but something extra was bothering his boy today, and Bobby would be damned if he didn't find out what it was.

"What's wrong with you, Dean?" Bobby asked seriously.

"Sam's-" Dean slurred, but Bobby interrupted.

"No, I don't wanna hear 'bout Sam; I wanna know what's up with you, and don't go tellin' me it's all because of your brother or Cas – this is somethin' else."

Dean looked down at his hands, spinning the ring on his right hand nervously. Just when Bobby was about to give up on hearing an answer, Dean pointed a shaking hand towards the faded calendar on the wall. Bobby frowned, squinting at the calendar. "What?" he asked, "the nineteenth?"

In answer to his confusion, Dean released his coffee mug and pushed it towards Bobby, spinning it so he could see the front. Accepting the mug, Bobby picked it up and looked at it closely, feeling his heart break when he saw the picture on the side of the cup. _Happy Father's Day Dean! You rock! _was scribbled in messy childish handwriting underneath the picture. Although his heart was in pieces, Bobby couldn't help but laugh. Dean frowned, picking his head up from where it was lying on the table to stare at the man questioningly.

Bobby shook his head, still chuckling as he passed the mug back to Dean and got up, digging around in his kitchen cabinets for a moment before returning with a bright white coffee cup. Looking at it fondly for a moment, Bobby passed it to Dean. Rotating the cup in his unsteady fingers, Dean smiled when he recognized the freckle-faced, gap-toothed boy in the baseball cap clinging to the arm of a much younger Bobby Singer.

_Happy Father's Day Bobby! You rock! _was written underneath the picture in handwriting surprisingly similar to Ben's. Dean laughed too.

"You kept this?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly.

"Of course! Was the first Father's Day present I ever got."

"God, I remember making this," Dean said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "We made 'em at school… Sammy made his for Dad and I was mad at Dad about something, so I made it for you instead. I told Sammy and Dad mine got broken, but I hid it in my bag and I gave it to you…"

"Wrapped up in one of your gnarly old gym shirts," Bobby finished with a laugh.

Dean smiled, pushing the mug back across the table to Bobby. "I remember being glad I made it for you – I always liked you better than him anyway." Bobby bit the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning like a damn idjit at Dean's statement. He shouldn't be happy that a Dean loved an old drunk like him more than his own father, but he couldn't help it.

Picking up his cup, Dean's expression turned somber once again and Bobby felt the smile wash away from his face too.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I know how much they meant to you," Bobby said. The words weren't enough – not even close – but no words were enough in this situation, so those ones would have to do. Dean simply nodded.

Setting the mugs side by side, Bobby reached forward and split the last dregs of whiskey between their two Father's Day presents. Dean accepted his cup and lifted it into the air. "Happy Father's Day, Bobby."

"Happy Father's Day, Dean," Bobby replied, clinking his mug against Dean's.

_Hey guys! This is my first time ever writing a Disa (that is the term for DeanxLisa right?) fic, so tell me what you thought! All feedback (even negative) is much appreciated! XOXO Zabby_


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